Love Bug (The Prescotts Book 3) by Tara Wyatt (electric book reader .TXT) 📗

she walked into a room it was like the sun came out. The air smelled sweeter and everything just felt brighter. She was like a glorious May afternoon personified. She was smart and sweet and warm and everything he couldn’t have. Women like Willa weren’t meant for men like him—broken, toxic, harmful.

He hit the bag harder, the contact vibrating up his arms, making him want more of it. He couldn’t pummel himself into oblivion, but the bag would do nicely as a stopgap.

He’d taken advantage of her last night. She’d said yes, but she’d also been vulnerable, having endured the terror of the home invasion. He should never have let it go as far as it did. He shouldn’t have even kissed her because after that first taste of her lips, he’d been done. Knowing the sweetness of her mouth had slashed his brake lines, fully and completely.

His punches came faster now, harder, the gloves socking against the bag with a satisfying smack.

Not only had he taken advantage of her, but he was her boss. He’d crossed a line last night, one he’d sworn he would never cross. But, selfish prick that he was, he’d gone and done it anyway.

He wanted to blame everything he’d done last night on adrenaline. When he’d seen Willa’s text fear had gripped him, the need to get to her obliterating everything else. He’d seen red when he’d laid eyes on those two assholes in her apartment, guns pointed at her and Kayla. Never in his life had he wanted to murder someone—until last night. And yeah, maybe adrenaline had played a small role in having sex with Willa, but all it had done was loosen his grip on his control. It wasn’t as though all of his feelings for her hadn’t been there until last night. They’d been there for months now, simmering just below the surface. The spike of fear had been what they’d needed to finally boil over.

But the worst part—the worst fucking part—was that he’d seen the way she’d looked at him last night, with trust and warmth. With open desire. With hope. His mind flashed back to what she’d said last night, about wanting him for a long time. He’d had no idea that she’d ever seen him as anything but her boss, which made what had happened last night even worse. Sex hadn’t just been about comfort or adrenaline. It had been more.

But her feelings for him didn’t matter. They couldn’t, because he wasn’t the man she needed, and if she knew the truth, he wouldn’t be the man she wanted, either. There was a reason he buried himself in work, that he kept everyone at arm’s length, and if Willa knew why he lived his life the way he did, if she knew what a toxic, selfish bastard he truly was, she wouldn’t have spent the night in his bed. Wouldn’t have given him a taste of something incredible that could never be his. Now, they were both going to pay the price.

He punctuated his thoughts with hooks and jabs against the bag, sweat running down over his temples.

Such. A. Fucking. Asshole. Motherfucking. Bastard. Hurting. Willa. Fucking. Jackass.

He huffed out a breath and forced himself to slow down, his heart throbbing in his chest. Gripping the Velcro pull with his teeth, he ripped off one glove and then the other, throwing them down and pacing away with his hands on his hips. His T-shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and he was shocked when the digital clock mounted to the wall showed that he’d been hammering away on the bag for over twenty minutes. He guzzled down his water and strode over to the windows, looking out over the city as the first traces of dawn lit up the sky.

As he gazed out over the skyline, flashes of last night exploded through his brain. The taste of Willa. The scent of her skin, the feel of her mouth. The tight, wet heat of her, gripping him so perfectly. The sweetness of her moans, her sighs. The sound of his name falling from her lips, over and over again. The peace of watching her drift into sleep, her face pressed against his chest. How fucking good he’d felt, taking care of her. Giving her the comfort she’d asked for, even if he should’ve said no. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to push it all away. Bury it deep. He’d never experienced something that felt like a miracle and a mistake all at once. Until now.

He drained the rest of his water and then headed back down the stairs. He felt a kick in his gut and an answering throb in his balls at the sight of Willa in the kitchen, perched on one of the stools lined up in front of the island, her slender fingers curled around a glass of orange juice. She wasn’t wearing anything except his button-down shirt from the night before, but it was so big on her that it covered her entirely.

He hadn’t been prepared for the sight of her in his shirt. Hadn’t been prepared for the bolt of possessive lust making his skin feel hot and tight. She looked up, her gorgeous eyes meeting his and making his heart pound in his chest. She bit her lip, her eyes raking over him, lingering on his cock, thickening visibly beneath his sweatpants.

He kept moving down the stairs, forcing himself to look away from her. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to cross the distance between them, close his mouth over hers and kiss the living daylights out of her.

She’d kiss him back, her arms around his neck, her sweetness exploding over his tongue, and then he’d lift her onto the counter, unable to stop himself from sinking his cock inside her again, taking her, feeling her come around him as she screamed out his name…

“Morning,” she said, almost shyly, tucking a strand of her chin-length hair